Up The Land

man trapped

in his daily orbit.

winter is just
around the corner
and all his green pages-
crumpled up in piles-
ring the trash bin.

he looks at the graying earth:
the beaten grasses of the fields
the wind left alone in the road
the river water all baked and burnt;

looks at night: glassy embers of stars
angrily astir and broomed out
across the darkling flap of sky;

untouchable
as the days that once were.

and What days, thinks man
what days,

and desires to walk again
up the land where forgotten gods dream,

the land where a voice
clear as polished drops of sky
still teaches the mornings
of his love.

Those days were good,
he says again to
the picture-less walls

 

that will
one day
watch him die.